


Selcouth

by Anonymous



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Controlling the Weather, M/M, Magical Realism, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 01:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12265710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Evgeni is six years old and sits with his chin in his hands in front of his bedroom window watching the snow fall.It's coming down in big, fat, flakes that coat the grass and the pavement.A car comes down the street sideways and bumps into his neighbor's mailbox.Evgeni sits up straight and doesn't breathe until the driver gets out and looks up at the sky without a scratch on him.His neighbor comes out of his house and instead of getting angry looks up at the sky as well, baffled.Tomorrow is September 1st.It's Evgeni’s first day of school and he doesn't want to go.





	Selcouth

**Author's Note:**

> Selcouth: (adj.) unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet marvelous.

Evgeni is six years old and sits with his chin in his hands in front of his bedroom window watching the snow fall.

It's coming down in big, fat, flakes that coat the grass and the pavement.

A car comes down the street sideways and bumps into his neighbor's mailbox.

Evgeni sits up straight and doesn't breathe until the driver gets out and looks up at the sky without a scratch on him.

His neighbor comes out of his house and instead of getting angry looks up at the sky as well, baffled.

Tomorrow is September 1st.

It's Evgeni’s first day of school and he doesn't want to go.

Evgeni slouches back down with his forehead against the cool windowpane until his mother throws open his door.

“Is this you,” she asks, voice loud and on the edge of angry and the tears well up in his eyes. She softens immediately and sits down on his bed. He goes to her easily and she rocks him in her lap.

“Baby,” she clucks her tongue, “what did we talk about?”

“I know. It was an accident.”

She props him up and puts her warm hands on his face. “Is that true?”

He can't look her in the eye.

She pulls him close to her chest and shushes him when he starts to cry.

“It's okay, it's okay,” she says over and over. “Can fix, just have to try.”

Evgeni takes a deep breath as his mother counts to ten. She pushes his hair off his forehead and he closes his eyes and thinks.

Outside the snow stops and the sun comes out.

It doesn't take long for it to melt.

*

Schools not so bad.

He makes friends and is good at math and writing. He has trouble with art but his mother helps him paint. She enjoys it.

He starts hockey and on a blustery day in November he scores his first goal.

It slides past the goalie and his teammates wobble into him to celebrate and in the stands his father looks so proud he could burst.

When the game is over and everyone files into the parking lot the skies have cleared and the sun has come out.

He tips his face up into the sun.

His mother taps him gently on the back of the head and orders him to keep walking.

*

When he loses his first game it rains for a week.

His father tells him that it's only one game and that he played well.

His mother cooks him his favorite meals.

It doesn't let up until he wins again.

*

Puberty goes about the same. Thunderstorms coincide with more yelling at his parents and mood swings and when he gets his first kiss at fourteen there are so many emotions swirling inside him that a tornado touches down for the first time in the town’s history.

It uproots a few trees and blows a mail truck off the road and when Evgeni gets home his mama is standing in the living room with her arms crossed.

“Mama, I'm in love,” he says and she rolls her eyes and turns to papa.

“You talk to your son. I'm done.”

When they break up under a month later his mother points a stern finger at him as he comes in from the rain.

“It's okay to be sad but you cannot let it get out of hand. You have to focus. This can't keep happening, do you want people to find out?”

“How are they going to find out,” he snaps back. “Do you think anyone is going to blame me? No one will ever know. I didn't ask for this.”

“It's a gift, Zhenya.”

“Then how come I'm not allowed to use it?”

“Zhenya,” she sighs but he doesn't want to hear it.

He stomps up to his room and slams the door.

She appears shortly after and sits next to him on the bed and it’s like he’s a kid again.

“No one will find out. It has to be a big secret or else they’ll think I’m crazy.”

She kisses his head and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“You’re not crazy.”

“I am. I control the weather. It’s crazy. You don’t understand.”

She holds her hand out in front of them and just like there there are snowflakes falling into her palm. A second later there’s a fine mist of rain. She turns her hand towards his bedroom window and a gust of wind blows the curtains back.

“You think I’m crazy,” she asks flatly and Evgeni shakes his head. “You’re not crazy. You’re special.”

“Does papa know?”

“Of course he does and someday you’ll tell someone, someone special, someone you love, and they’ll love you back. Real love,” she shakes his shoulders. “Not some girl you’ve known for less than a month.”

“It felt real,” he mumbles.

“I know.” She kisses him again. “But you’ll see.”

*

Sidney Crosby is small and baby faced but powerful and he makes the Russians look like a bunch of fools.

One of his teammates breaks his stick over his knee after Crosby scores, again, and a few minutes later Evgeni misses a line change because he can’t stop watching number 87 tear up and down the ice.

“What are you doing,” Alexi barks as he hops over the boards to take his place.

“Sorry,” Evgeni says and starts to climb over, not hearing his bench yelling at him to stay put.

He tries to scramble back over but it’s too late and the whistle blows for too many men.

Crosby is at center ice, already hunched over like he’s just waiting for the puck to drop, like it’s all he lives for.

Evgeni skates slowly by him on his way to the box and Crosby stands up straight and watches him go.

There’s a clap of thunder the moment the puck hits the ice.

 

They lose. Hard.

Team Canada celebrates with their goalie and Team Russia looks on.

He played well. They just played better. There’s nothing to be done about it but that doesn’t stop him from pacing up and down the hall, thunder rolling overhead.

He turns on his heels in time to see the Canadians file out of their locker room, happy and smiling and laughing.

Crosby is the last to go.

 _“He’s always the last to leave the rink. Won’t take a day off. I think he sleeps and eats at center ice,”_ Sasha had whispered to him on the bus ride before the game. He said all of it like it was a bad thing.

Crosby has his bag over his shoulder and he’s looking down at the phone in his hand.

He stops suddenly and looks up, like he knows that he’s being watching.

 _“He has eyes on the back of his head,”_ had been another thing Sasha had whispered.

When he spots Evgeni he raises his hand in a wave and gives him a smile then breaks away from the group to walk towards him.

Crosby keeps the smile on his face as he speaks. It’s too quick and Evgeni can’t keep up and it doesn’t take long for Crosby to see the confusion on his face.

 _English_ , is the only word Evgeni recognizes when he speaks again and combined with the slight tip of Crosby’s head, he understands enough.

“No.”

“Oh,” Crosby says. “Okay.”

Then his sticks his hand out and Evgeni takes it. The squat windows near the ceiling flash with lightning.

Crosby says one more thing then squeezes his hand before he lets go, hefts the bag higher on his shoulder and hurries down the hall to rejoin his team.

When his own team spills out into the parking lot to get on the bus it’s switching from snow to sleet to rain to sunshine and back again.

“What the fuck,” Sasha spits.

Evgeni shrugs.

*

In Pittsburgh he is Geno.

He’s thousands of miles from home, doesn’t speak the language, and misses his parents.

But Sidney Crosby is still Sidney Crosby and being on the ice with him feels like being at home.

Every time they connect for a goal or Sid taps their helmets together or tells him that he played well in the worst Russian accent he has ever heard he feels warm all over.

_He makes the city warm all over._

Cloudless days with nothing but sun. The weathermen can’t seem to believe it and they use the same sunshine icon everyday on their seven-day forecast.

He feels fantastic and this is only preseason.

It's only going to get better.

After practice Geno watches Sid out of the corner of his eye.

His mouth won’t stop moving and finally Army snaps and says something to him with a roll of his eyes before shoving his sweaty socks at him.

It doesn’t take long for the rest of the team to pile on and Geno turns to Gonch who still has his socks in his hands.

“He won’t stop complaining about the weather. He thinks it’s too late in the year for it to be this hot. It’s an affront to his cold Canadian blood.”

Geno wrinkles his nose. “He said that?”

“Not the last part but only because he knows it’ll be ten times worse if he does.”

Across the room Flower is sitting on him, shoving dirty goalie pads into his face and laughing.

By the time they walk out to their cars there is already a coating of snow on the ground.

“I hope you're fucking happy, Sid,” someone shouts as a couple of the guys take off running to gather snow into their hands.

It’s too light and dry to form into a ball so they sweep it off the tops of cars at each other instead.

“It doesn’t go past parking lot,” Flower yells and hops from the sidewalk to the street and back again.

Sid stands next to him and shakes his head in disbelief.

The snow melts immediately on his skin but it sticks to his dark curls and eyelashes and when he blinks them away he looks up at him.

“Crazy, yes?”

Sid shakes his head and says “amazing,” before tipping his head back and catching snowflakes on his tongue.

*

“How are things,” his mama asks him during one of their bi-weekly phone calls.

“Fine,” he says. “The team is really good. The best I’ve ever played with.”

“Okay. But how are _things?_ ”

He doesn’t want to tell her about the snow. He'd have to lie and tell her it was a mistake. A one time thing. 

He knows it’s going to happen again.

“Fine. _Things_ are fine. How is Jeffrey, does he miss me?”

She’s quiet for a long moment and then starts to tell him about his dog.

*

The crowd in Philadelphia is loud and unforgiving and when they leave at the end of the night euphoric after a shut out the skies open up and drenches them as they walk to their cars.

*

When the plane touches down in Chicago they get hit with a blast of wind so bitter that Sid steps back inside the cabin so suddenly that Geno has to put his hands out to steady him.

“Cold,” he tells him with an embarrassed smile. “Stupid and cold.”

He takes a deep breath to brace himself then goes.

When they wake up in the morning it’s sunny and seventy five.

*

It snows in Arizona on Christmas Eve.

*

They, _Sid_ , get heckled as they leave DC and the loudest guy pressed against the barricades to get a good look at the bus slips on a patch of ice that wasn’t there a moment ago.

Sid bursts out laughing, rare after such a tough loss, and Geno smiles back at him as the guy sits there in a rapidly melting puddle.

*

Losing is never easy and it’s hard sometimes to keep his feelings to himself but when they lose to the Red Wings in Game 6 it’s impossible to stop the cold drizzle from following them from Detroit to Pittsburgh.

“Are you hanging around,” Sid asks on the tarmac. There’s no one there to greet them. No fanfaire. Geno’s parents are waiting for him at home.

“No. Locker clean out and then home.”

Sid nods. His face is drawn and grey. “I don’t know….” He stops and winces. “I don’t know what to say.”

 _Because there’s nothing to say_ , Geno thinks.

“It’s okay. Always next year.”

“Yeah but I wanted it this year.”

Geno arches an eyebrow and digs his hands deeper into his pockets. “Lots of wants. Sometimes just have to accept what you have.”

“Yeah,” Sid says softly and the spotlight that illuminates the area catches the reflection of the water that’s clinging to his hair.

It reminds Geno of morning dew on a spiderweb.

“Have a good summer,” he says as he steps in for a one armed hug. He’s there and gone before Geno can even react. “In case I forget to tell you.”

Sid leaves him there staring after him.

As soon as Sid gets inside the safety of the airport it starts to pour.

*

Geno mopes at home.

His mother catches him skating on the frozen pond on their property in shorts in a t-shirt and yells his name.

“What if someone sees?”

“Way back in the woods, mama. No one comes out here.”

“But-.”

“I’m very rich now,” he says as he takes a wide, lazy loop. “Just tell them I paid to make it cold.”

His phone rings in his pocket and he takes his life into his hands as he ignores his mother to answer it.

“Hey,” Sid says as soon as Geno says hello. “I didn’t like how we left things. I figured out what I wanted to say. This year- _this loss_ \- it didn’t mean anything. It’s just one game. We have years. Decades, if everything goes well. We’re going to win. I know it. So if you’re feeling sad or something, don’t because that loss….it’s just whatever. We’ll get over. We’ll be better.”

He’s breath is coming out in quick bursts and Geno digs his skate into the ice to stop himself.

“Sid. Next year, going to win.”

“Yes. And then more after that. We’re going to be the best.”

“Already are.”

Sid barks out a laugh. “You’re so full of yourself,” he says and Geno doesn’t have the confidence to tell he wasn’t talking about himself. “How’s your summer going?”

They talk for almost an hour and by the time he hangs up Geno doesn’t feel half as bad as he did before and his skate goes right through the ice to the water.

“Shit,” he says as he scrambles to get to dry land as the ice melts beneath his feet.

*

Less than a year later they’re back in Detroit.

This time Geno beams as Sid raises the Cup above his head and yells.

The locker room is a mess of overexcited bodies and empty beer cans and the team is singing something horribly off key as Geno bends at the knees in front of Sid and takes a long drink from the Cup.

“I told you,” Sid says as he presses in close for a hug. He raises up on his toes so he can speak directly into his ear. It’s the only way to be heard. “I fucking told you.”

“I told you,” Geno says back and then Sid is tackled from behind by five different teammates and the volume increases even more.

 

It’s quieter in Sid’s hotel room.

The Cup is on the bed and they're out on the balcony because Sid insisted that they needed fresh air.

“It’ll help with the hangover,” Sid says as he smiles around the lip of a bottle of champagne

There’s noise to the left and the right of them as their teammates continue to celebrate.

They’re still in their alcohol soaked Stanley Cup Champion t-shirts and Geno is keeping the cool air at bay in a warm protective bubble as they lean against the railing.

“Do you want some?” Sid slurs as he holds the bottle out to him.

There’s only a little left and Geno shakes his head.

Sid takes the final swig and sets the bottle down before he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. His lips are a deep red. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

“Of course. You talk to me in hallway and I couldn’t understand.”

“Yeah,” Sid laughs and looks up at the stars. It’s a cloudless night, thanks to Geno, and they shine bright. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

He remembers everything.

Sid’s hair was wet and his lips were red, just like they are now, and the phone he was holding was silver. The thumbnail on his left hand looked bruised and the sound of his voice speaking in a language he couldn’t yet understand was the best thing he’d ever heard.

“How could I forget?” He pokes at Sid’s side and Sid jolts away. “You remember what you said to me?”

“I said I thought you were amazing.” He clears his throat and looks up at the sky. “I couldn’t stop watching you and I hoped we’d get to play together someday. I thought you were the best.”

“All still true,” Geno teases and Sid laughs.

He shoves a hand through his hair and leans against the railing. “I want to do this again.”

“You will.”

“I know but right now. I want to feel that way again. _Right now._ I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

“You’ll have it again. We already said, win lots.”

“No, you don’t get it. What if I’m never this happy again? What if I’m wasting it?”

“Wasting what?”

Sid’s quiet and Geno studies him carefully, the way he bites at his bottom lip and how his face is partly covered in shadow from the light in the room.

“Need some water,” Geno says. “Plane ride home going to be awful.”

“Yeah, just wait.”

It comes out stilted and awkward and Sid’s hands catch in the fabric at the bottom of Geno’s shirt to stop him from leaving.

He clenches his fingers tighter and tugs him forward.

The backs of Sid’s hands brush against his stomach.

“I just want…” He trails off and Geno takes a deep breath. He knows Sid can feel it against his hands when he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth then slowly releases it. “What I want...is it really hot out here?”

Geno blinks. “What?”

Sid drops his hands and pulls his shirt away from his chest fanning it out. It’s almost completely dry. “It’s really hot out here, like, all of the sudden.”

The temperature has skyrocketed and it takes Geno a moment to find his voice. “Weather weird sometime.”

“I think I should sit down.”

“You should go to sleep. Drink water then go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Sid says and looks an awful lot like he wants to say more.

Geno touches the Cup on his way out.

*

In Pittsburgh Sid gets off the plane with the Cup in his hands and sunglasses on his face.

The sun is shining bright.

*

They’re only a few games into the new season when Sid gets cross checked and goes down hard.

Geno’s over the boards with the trainer before the play is even called dead and for every second that Sid doesn’t get up the wind outside the arena gets stronger and stronger.

The building shakes and the lights flicker, scoreboard going dark then blinking back to life as the generator kicks on.

There’s a panic in the stands and the announcer's voice cuts in and out as he tries to reassure everyone and asks them to please stay in their seats.

Geno can only focus on Sid who is slowly getting to his feet and skates slowly towards the bench flanked by Kuni and Tanger.

He can still see Sid’s number down the tunnel when he decides to fight three Rangers at once and gets a ten minute misconduct for his troubles.

 _Worth it,_ he thinks as he hurries down the tunnel.

Above him the storm rages on. Behind him the crowd is cheering for the players that are still fighting. He’s not sure what’s ahead of him and that’s terrifying.

 

Sid is sitting up with his helmet off and his skates swinging in the air.

The doctor in front of him clicks off her penlight and sticks it into her coat pocket while a couple of assistants stand off to the side and ask each other if this place has a basement and how soon should they start to move there.

Sid peers around the doctor and frowns. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He says it like he’s in peak - _Third Period- The Team Is Down By Two- What Are We Going To Do About It- Listen To Me I’m The Captain-_ mode. He says it like everything is fine, like he wasn’t lying on the ice for five whole minutes.

“You okay?”

“Yes, I'm fine.”

He says something else but he doesn't hear it as he waddles forward in his skates and doesn't stop until he's standing between Sid’s legs and pushing his forehead against Sid’s shoulder.

“Geno.” He doesn't push him off. Instead he holds him closer with his hand on the side of Geno’s head, fingertips pushing through his hair.

Geno presses his face against Sid’s neck and breathes in sweat and salt and his heart stops racing and the wind stops.

Sid hums and curls his hand around the back of Geno’s head.

“I’m okay,” he tells him. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” he laughs a little and pulls Geno’s face just enough to look him in the eye. “What do I have to do to make you believe me? How many times do I have to say it?”

Geno will never get tired of hearing it.

“What about you?” Sid nudges his knee against Geno’s hip. “Who did you fight?”

“Don’t know. Bunch of people.”

“That’s not good.”

“Had to.”

“No you didn’t.”

Geno huffs and puts both his hands on the side of Sid’s face. Someone clears their throat like they’re trying to remind them that they’re not alone.

He doesn’t care. He leans in and rests the front of his helmet against Sid’s forehead.

“Had to,” he repeats.

He feels Sid nod.

“Okay.”

*

Meteorologists call it a microburst. A strange weather phenomenon that happened over the arena. It hit and was gone.

The public forgets about it after a week but Geno doesn’t.

Everyone says it could have been a lot worse but only he knows how true that is.

That can’t happen again.

This is hockey. People get hurt.

He has to learn how to control it.

*

When Sid gets concussed Geno wants to wipe the city off the map.

He wants to flood the streets, mangle power lines with wind, down trees, open up the earth so it swallows the city whole.

Dump twelve feet of snow then cover it in ice.

He wants to sun to burn so bright and hot that there’s nothing but fire.

He wants to take Washington and Tampa with it.

He could do it. All of it. He feels it coursing through his veins and threatening to break it’s way out.

He could devastate these places the way two hits in two games have devastated him.

The temptation is overwhelming until Mario lets him into Sid’s part of the house, tells him to keep his voice down and not to expect much from him.

Geno keeps his footsteps light on the stairs and doesn’t knock before he opens the door of his bedroom.

Sid’s looks very small beneath the covers with his head cradled between the pillows and a washcloth over his eyes.

The only light in the room is from the sunlight seeping in through the edges of the blackout curtains but a moment later the sun disappears behind thick, grey clouds and the room is blanketed in darkness.

He lets his eyes adjust and makes his way to the bed.

“Sid,” he whispers and Sid's hand twitches next to his hip on top of the blankets. Geno reaches out to hold it and swipes his thumb across his knuckles. “Going to be okay.”

Sid whimpers and pulls the cloth from his face.

Even in the dark his eyes still shine bright gold.

Geno would leave the earth in chaos in Sid's name, but not while he’s still around to see it.

*

Sid gets better and then worse and then Geno gets himself injured and as they’re taking him into surgery he swears he can hear all of Pittsburgh say _well there goes the season._

He's left with an angry scar on his leg and an ever present cloud cover that breaks records.

Pittsburgh hasn’t seen the sun in months but just outside of city limits it’s shining bright.

Scientists come from all over to study the atmosphere and the news must make it back to Russia because when his mother calls him she addresses him with his full name.

He says Sid’s on a wrenching sob that leaves her scrambling to comfort him.

“I want to do more,” he cries, “I want to ruin everything, I’m trying to hold back, this is all I can do.”

“I know,” she says over and over again. “I know, I know.”

“I love him. I don’t know what to do.”

“Just be there,” she says, “try to be strong for him. This will pass. He will get better.”

That’s what everyone says.

Most of the time he believes it. He’ll go to visit him and he’ll be up and walking around and practically begging for someone to talk to or something to do but then other times he won’t talk at all.

He stares down at his hands and won’t make eye contact.

Even worse are the times when Mario shakes his head and won’t let him by to see him at all.

“It’s just not a good day,” he says with a sympathetic squeeze to his shoulder. “Try again tomorrow.”

But today is a good day.

Sid is up and barefoot, standing in front of the window and pulling the curtain back to look outside.

“It’s been so cloudy lately.”

Geno makes a noncommittal noise and shuffles the deck of cards. Sid’s not supposed to be looking at screens yet but he confessed a few days ago that sometimes he turns it on just to have something to do.

“I miss the sun.”

“Sunlight bad for your head right now.”

“I feel okay.”

“Right now, maybe. Maybe in a few hours you won’t. Can’t rush it.”

“I know that,” he snaps and Geno looks up from the king of hearts that has made it’s way to the top of the deck. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

He sits down across from him at the table and takes the cards. He sighs when he looks at them like he’s disappointed.

Geno knows him well enough by now to know it’s a bluff.

Sid sets two cards down and says quietly, “I miss doing things. I’m stuck in this house all the time. I feel so helpless.”

“You’re getting better, Sid. Is most important.”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

Sid sounds so sad and small and being right, has never felt worse so Geno sets his cards down and stands up.

“Come on. Get coat.”

Sid stands up fast enough to knock the chair back and Geno holds up his hands to calm him back down.

“Just short walk around backyard. Nothing major. You start not feeling well and you tell me. We’ll go back inside, understand?”

Sid nods eagerly and grabs his coat off the back of the couch.

He steps on Geno’s heals in his haste to get out the door.

 

The clouds part and the sun comes out as soon as Sid’s feet hit the grass.

Sid walks slowly, either to savor his time or to make sure Geno can keep up with him since he’s still waking with a limp.

Either way it makes his heart ache.

“This is great,” Sid says as he takes a deep breath of the cool air.

The sunlight is dancing along his cheekbones.

“Imagine how good it will feel when you get back on the ice.”

Sid’s smile dims. “I miss that. I think I’d give anything to be back out there with you guys again. Back with you.”

He has the ability to fix this. To take some of the hurt away.

“You trust me?”

Sid looks at him like he’s crazy. “Of course. Why would you even ask me that?”

“I trust you too. Trust you more than anything. I have to show you something, I think it’s time.”

“Geno-.”

“Just...trust, okay?”

Sid nods and Geno turns to the center of the yard. It slopes down towards the middle and when he raises his hand and it starts to rain, only in the center of the yard, the water starts to collect there.

Sid tugs at his sleeve. “Geno.”

“Is okay. You’ll see.”

The puddle freezes over and Sid’s hand drops off his arm. Geno catches it before it can fall to his side.

“Is okay,” he repeats and Sid looks up at him with wide eyes.

“You did that?”

“Yes. Can do lots of things.”

The clouds return and the wind picks up then the wind stops and the sun comes out, so bright Sid has to squint into it. Geno quickly covers it with clouds again.

Sid’s voice is full of wonder when he says “you control the weather.”

“Not all of it. Not that powerful. Only where I am.”

“How? For how long?”

“Ever since I was a little kid. My mama can do it too. Think maybe I got it from her. She’s a lot better at controlling it.”

“But...how?”

Geno shrugs. “Just have to think it. Sometimes happens when I don’t want it to. You know, get emotional. When you get hurt-.”

“It’s been cloudy because of you?”

“Have curtains to block out sun but some still gets in. So, I take sun away.”

“Geno.”

“Not everywhere. Sun is still out there. But before, remember last year when you got hurt and all the wind. I come into locker room and see you’re okay and it stopped.”

“That was you,” he says and Geno can almost see him connecting the dots. “The snow in the parking lot. Rain when we lost. Sun when we won. That’s all you?”

Geno nods.

“And this.” He gestures to the ice in the middle of the yard. “Does anyone else know?”

“Just my parents and brother. Mama always say I find someone special someday and tell them. They’d understand.”

“And you picked me.”

“Never had to pick you, Sid. Was always going to be you ever since we met.”

“There was a thunderstorm that day. There wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Told you sometimes I can’t control it. I get emotional and-.”

Sid pulls him down by the front of his shirt and kisses him.

Geno’s been waiting for this and while Sid’s hands grip the fabric Geno gently holds the side of his face, keeping him close so that when they break apart they’re breathing the same air.

Sid looks up at the sky then whispers “nothing happened.”

Geno shifts his weight off his bad leg and the grass crunches beneath him.

There’s a perfectly round ring of frost covering the grass.

It’s the exact same size as a faceoff circle.

Sid drags the toe of his shoe across the blades and watches the frost melt in the sun.

“Come on,” Geno says as he takes his hand.

Together they step onto the ice.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [Tumblr](https://secret-sidgeno-writer.tumblr.com/) now. Feel free to give it a follow or a browse.


End file.
